Page 23 of Make You Mine

His hands on my hips pull a gasp from me, and goosebumps spread across my sensitive skin.

I shiver. Clench. Almost whimper.

Why does he affect me this way?Like no man has before.

For years, I lived and breathed for my shop. No dates, much less time for a relationship. Time and time again, I would say “no” to Jason—and anyone who asked me out—choosing instead to fixate on the new sales promotion and flavors for each month.

I focused solely on what I could create inside my kitchen to entice my clientele.

Besides, while I’ve never slept with a man or woman, I’ve owned a few vibrators over the years. My suction cup dildo does the job of taking care of my needs, although technically, some might still consider me a virgin even if I am stretched to accommodate my eight-inch toys.

No fumbling or nerves. Just me at my own pace without any outside pressure.

I’ve been more than content to fully take care of myself. To be alone.

I’m not a prude. I’ve just never been interested enough to try. My toys are faithful, always give me orgasms, and I don’t have to worry about somebody’s schedule or job.

Something tells me he’d be worth the ride…

“Where did you go, beautiful?” Elijah says, bringing me back to the present. I’m sitting in the middle of his island now, legs slightly spread, with him standing almost between them. And I say almost because even though his upper body is leaning toward me, his hips stay a few inches from my knees. Closeenough that I feel his heat, but not touching. Even his hands stay away from my flesh.

He keeps one on each side of me on the counter, palms face down.

“Nowhere?” It comes out as a question, and he raises a brow. “I just spaced out.”

“Don’t lie.” My face heats up, and he smirks a bit. “Share with the class.”

“Just thinking about the mess you made. How dirty you are?” Something flashes in his eyes; they darken a bit at my words, and my blush deepens. “I meant your shirt. You have stains...not that you’re dirty, as in…sexually.”

He chuckles. I’m becoming flustered, and he knows it. “You don’t say.”

“Christ...” I throw my hands up, almost knocking him in the chin. “I’m talking about the room. Not you. It’s filthy in here.”

“Quit while you’re ahead.” His voice is a bit huskier. Almost smooth like chocolate.

“I’m done now.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back, avoiding his stare. Once more, I take in the grimy surfaces while ignoring his presence—how easily he distracts me from my earlier panic—and it’s while I look around the room that a few things stand out…

My luggage and my military escorts are missing.

“Your bags are near the entrance. Jaime and Adam had to go…something about one of their wives.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Not that hard when you whisper those thoughts out loud.” Eli is a bit smug, and I do something that’s completely out of my norm. I flick his forehead, and hard. Hard enough that he jumps back a bit and narrows his eyes at me.

There’s a split second between my hit and Elijah wanting to retaliate, but before he can, I jump down from the countertop and walk around him. The space between us is something I need.

To think. To clear the fog he creates.

To continue ignoring just how easily he makes me forget my troubles—my fear.

“Where are your cleaning supplies and mop?” I ask while surveying the room once more. More glass crunches beneath my feet as I walk around him and toward his fridge. It’s even worse over here, and the food is drying, becoming gunky against the stainless steel of the appliances.

“I’ll clean up after you leave the kitchen.”

“No.”

“No?” He sounds as though he finds my response amusing.

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